Without you
by Thefreakoutsideyourwindow
Summary: The world was ending yet all he could do was hold onto the vague hope that they'd be okay, that they'd make it through this. But what apocalypse could ever leave a happy ending? (Oneshot, Omegaverse, Apocalypse AU, Human Au, Character death).


**Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia.**

**A/N: I recommend listening to Ohne Dich by Rammstein while reading this or watching Markiplier's One Chance - Angst galore!**

* * *

**Without you**

The world was ending.

Albeit depressing, and certainly unexpected, it struck Peter as near comedic – at least in a satire kind of way. Not once all week had he heard a complaint about how much his hair resembled a bird's nest, or how his drawing were "Super duper cool!" as his dad had dubbed them. Normalcies were now replaced with pregnant silences, the tension so thick you could try to cut it with a knife and the knife would get stuck.

It was a virus.

Mr. Väinämöinen was the first to go, Peter's home room teacher, and it left a festering feeling of anticipation. Who would be next? Would they go slowly? Quickly? Would it be him? Seats were slowly emptied, rows upon rows looking much like the gutted and long dead carcase of a once magnificent beast that was society. Most of the time Peter just came to school to see if anyone else was there, but the reason soon changed.

Mum was getting ill.

It started out slowly at first – little signs here and there as the world rotted around them. Half a plate of food left there, no longer responding to the odd jeering insult thrown at him to get his attention, the way his shoulders sagged wearily as if the whole world rested upon him...

In a way it did.

No longer knowing if anyone else was still alive – _why is it always so quiet?_ \- Peter spent most of his time wandering around the house and playing with the odd toy here and there, making drawings that would never get put up on the fridge again. There was nothing else he **could** do. The sparse attempts that he made when trying to get his father's attention resulted in nothing but a choked sob as the man fought against tears, most of the time holding a bloodied rag that had been washed so many times it was now nothing but strings and the occasional clump of cloth.

Then dad stopped getting up.

Transitioning from childhood to adulthood much faster than anyone would be pushed to, Peter saw to fetching fresh water for them and forcing down the occasional can of food which typically came back up half an hour later. Regardless of how empty their eyes looked, or how hollowed out their cheeks had become, sometimes they would return to the world with a small sense of clarity and would offer him a wobbly smile and thin fingers that would weakly comb through his greasy hair.

That soon became the highlight of his endless days.

Waking up to sleep in his eyes and the musty smell of the room he was accustomed to, Peter yawned quietly (so as not to disturb mum and dad) and slowly stretched out his stiff joints, surprised by how much lankier they looked in the dim morning sunlight. Dust wove around the room and was illuminated by the rays of light crawling through their long uncared for window and the long dead, brown grass.

Carefully manoeuvring himself out of the bed from between his two parents, Peter cautiously trod on the long sticky carpet from bodily fluids and made his way to the kitchen. Deciding on leftover tomato soup – _I need to go shopping for more later –_ he pulled out the can opener and opened the can with little resistance. Pouring half of the soup into a bowl each he precariously carried a bowl in each hand and pushed the doors open with his elbows, the cold soup being as good as it could get as the power went out long ago.

Placing one of the bowls down on the night stand the boy carried one of the bowls and lifted it to his father's lips, figuring he had eaten earlier than mum. Meeting great resistance the red liquid did nothing but dribble down his mouth to further emphasise the sickly greyness that had attributed itself to his skin. Frowning in slight annoyance, Perter placed the bowl down before attempting to push his dad into an upright position; yet he was extremely stiff and wouldn't budge.

"C'mon dad, you need to eat!" Peter ground out in frustration, worry getting the best of him. This only intensified as his shoves and hits to the chest did nothing but cause his dad to shake slightly under the motions.

Terror and denial getting the best of him, Peter moved to his mum instead but received nothing but the same response. "Mum...m-mum, _please...!"_ Nothing but whines and sobs left his mouth as he shoved yet another stiff shoulder, the flesh cold and unforgiving beneath his hand. "M-mum, dad..y-you can-n't! It's n-not fair!" Though stiff young, he'd seen the animals in biology class that had gone through the same things, removed from the humility of the world yet still going through the same process. He had nowhere to go, no-one to turn to as his parents, the _corpses,_ lay in bed as if it was a lazy Sunday morning, both facing each other with their hands almost meeting halfway.

Peter felt numb as he cried and wailed over a broken future that no-one but him would remember.

And as the sun lazily moved to midday,

As the dead branches moved in the silent breeze,

As he mourned over husks that were once his parents...

The boy known as Peter gave up.


End file.
